The older I get, the more I realise the best work — and the best life — happens when you’re surrounded by people who make you feel like yourself.
The ones who get your vision without you having to translate it.
The ones who expand you, not shrink you.
When you’re younger, you say yes more, you take the jobs you need, not always the ones that fit. I still do that sometimes. But now, when something doesn’t work out, I can see it for what it is — a mismatch, not a failure.
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about that — about connection, honesty, and what it really means to build something with depth.
In a world where everyone shares everything, few people are actually honest. There’s endless content, endless so-called connection, yet somehow so little truth. Everyone’s projecting the life or business they want you to see. Even personal profiles feel manufactured now. And I get it — we’re all extensions of our work. But how can we really connect if we’re not honest with ourselves or others? It’s all just become a sea of sameness — we literally just follow people, and in more ways than one. We measure connection in followers, but what really matters is the handful of people you can build something real with — the ones who see you, not just scroll past you.
For me, honesty is where the real work begins. It’s what makes a space, a collaboration, or a relationship feel alive. The best projects I’ve ever done weren’t just about the materials or the mood boards, they were about the people. The shared energy. The trust. Their willingness to tell their story and open up their world. The insights, the vulnerability. That’s when I know it’s the right fit.
The best clients have always become friends. When it hasn’t worked, it’s usually been because of a mismatch in values or communication. I used to feel gutted when people didn’t show up with the same care I brought. But over time, I’ve learned that how people treat you says everything about them, not you.
I’ve been in business a long time. I’ve seen it all. And through all those years, I was told the same thing again and again: Don’t take it so personally. It’s just business.
But the truth is, it’s not “just business” for me. It never has been. I truly don’t think that applies to creatives — what we do is personal by nature. We give a piece of ourselves to every project. I care deeply about the spaces I create — the intent behind them, the stories that shape them, the brands I help build, and the people I support. When you care like that, it hurts a bit more when things go wrong, but it also means you build things that matter.
I also bring my own story to the work — my experiences, my instincts, my way of seeing. It’s a collaboration, built on honesty and a kind of childlike openness. That’s where the real connection — and the best work — begins.
I’m not out here doing another “Mediterranean” or “Hamptons-inspired” interior for the 500th time — even if that’s what a client thinks they want. Hear me out.
Of course, I want happy clients. But I also want them to get a result that fits their life, not a Pinterest adaptation. Something that’s all theirs. It’s not the client’s job to create the concept — it’s ours. You have to do the work to draw it out of them. There are plenty of people willing to take the money and replicate a trend, but that’s not me.
I really believe that the need to follow others or chase trends comes from a lack of self-awareness. Stop looking outward for approval. Trust your own instincts — it’ll shift everything. You can literally design your business and your home to fit your life, not the other way around.
This year has been a big one — hard, transformative, clarifying. I’ve had to face the fact that not everyone can be trusted, that words mean nothing when actions don’t match, and that sometimes the people you’ve supported for years don’t show up for you when it counts. I’ve started seeing patterns and believing them — not words — calling the bullshit for what it is. Not calling out loudly, but stepping back quietly. I’m drawing lines in the sand. Not from bitterness, but from self-respect.
And still — I’ve chosen to stay open. I don’t want to harden. I don’t want to become cynical or jaded. That’s just not me.
I guess living in a small town adds another layer to all this. It can feel like everyone’s watching and judging — and sometimes they are — but most of the time, they’re not. Most people are just caught up in their own world. And once you stop worrying about being seen, you can start seeing — the details, the potential, the way things feel. You can live with a little more intention and a lot less performance. You can do your work quietly, with integrity, and let the results speak for themselves.
I’ve realised I’m happiest now, behind the scenes — shaping tone, direction, and vision rather than sitting in the spotlight. I like being the person who can sense what’s not being said yet, who helps pull the threads together until something raw emerges. A kind of creative shaman, if you will — guiding people back to the essence of what they’re really trying to make, say, or feel. It’s not about ownership or recognition. It’s about alignment. When the energy is right, the work speaks for itself.
So if you’re younger and still finding your way, here’s what I’ve learned:
Don’t let the world convince you to care less. Care smarter, maybe, but not less. Your care is your edge. Your integrity is your anchor. Protect it, but don’t dilute it. The right people will recognise it instantly. The wrong ones — the performative ones — won’t know how to meet it. Your openness will unsettle them because it reveals what they’ve learned to hide. I’ve come to see that loud personalities are often just armour. Real confidence is quiet and curious — it’s listening and really hearing.
And if you’re in business, especially creative or service-based work — choose the people who make it feel like you’re building with them, not for them. The ones who see you. Who ask questions. Who show up. That’s where the best work lives.
As for me — I’m ramping up for some exciting, diverse projects right now, and I’m genuinely loving it. It’s been a slow slog to get here, but also deeply rewarding. Thank you to everyone who’s reached out, enquired, or simply read along here. Having a place to share ideas, rants, new beginnings, and reflections as I navigate these first few months of my new creative studio has meant more than you know.
And because I can’t resist ending with something slightly ridiculous and real: if you ever come home from a great night out, a little tipsy and full of confidence — do something your sober self is scared to do (As long as its not texting an Ex haha). Sign up for the gym. Join that writing group. Pitch the idea. Send the email. Sometimes your tipsy self knows best. Just saying… worked for me.
Here’s to honesty, creative courage, and doing business with people you actually want to do life with.
Want to connect? Find me at RR STUDIO
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